Without a Cluedo
by MapleleafCameo
Summary: John comes home to find Sherlock has taken a unique form of revenge upon the Cluedo set. Part of my Catverse. All you need to know is that Sherlock is a cat & John is a wizard. This is for my lovely friend Lucy36 for her birthday! No Slash - just for you Luce! Rated K plus!


**To my dear friend Lucy36, cat lover extraordinaire and owner of Dinah, devourer of foreign objects. Happy Birthday mon amie!**

**Just to let you know this story is part of my Catverse series. It is not necessary to have read those stories. All you need to know is that Sherlock is a cat and John is a wizard. You know, nice and normal.**

**Thanks to johnsarmylady – BFFF & wondermuse – for the awesome use of the phrase 'naff off'!**

**Don't own, 'cause if I did Sherlock would be curled up at the foot of my bed and I would entice him with cat treats:P**

Without a Cluedo

"Sherlock!"

There was no answer.

"Sherlock?!"

Again nothing. Silence permeated the flat, rolling throughout; it moved with the mounting anxiety in John's stomach, nothing but dead, noiseless silence.

"Sherlock?" Worry now coloured his tone.

There was no sign of the detective in the kitchen or living room. His coat wasn't hung up, draped dramatically on the arm of the couch or flung hastily on the back of a chair.

John stood and listened.

A soft, faint noise came from the direction of Sherlock's bedroom.

It sounded like 'ack'.

Without thought, John stirred to action and pushed his way through the closed door and into the detective's room. A feeling of relief flowed through his body and settled the tension that had been building there. Lying in the middle of the bed was not the tall, lanky frame of the detective, but a shape almost as familiar. It was a chocolate brown, Burmese cat.

John's relief was short lived as he took a closer look at his friend, flatmate and cat. A soft, piteous meow leaked from the small pink mouth, followed by the sides of the cat heaving, his mouth stretched and an odd "ACK!" sound coming from the pit of his stomach.

John's forehead creased in concern and worry returned to his warm, blue eyes.

"Sherlock? Are you alright? What happened? What's wrong?"

The cat lying on the bed closed his luminous eyes as if to block out the pain that seemed to be running throughout his body.

John sat on the edge of the bed and lightly touched Sherlock on the head. Sherlock's back was to him, so the cat had to twist his head around backwards to look at John and he meowed most wretchedly once more.

John carefully ran his hand down the slim body and when he got to the stomach the cat winched and meowed again. He also reached around and snagged John's hand with a snarky paw.

"Hey, naff off Sherlock! You thankless hairy beast!" But John ever the doctor, continued to check the cat over.

He thought for a moment and as he did, he looked around the bedroom and found something out of place. Lying on the floor was a small game token. It looked like small metal candlestick. As well, there were fragments of colourful cardboard strewn across the floor and other odd game pieces, looking as if they had been flung about in a temper tantrum.

He bent over to pick up the candlestick and glared at the cat on the bed.

"Shi…take mushrooms, Sherlock! What did you do? Did you EAT the _Cluedo_ set? I knew we should never have played!" John heaved a sigh of the continually overburdened, pinched the bridge of his nose and spoke to the prone figure on the bed.

"For the love of all that's holy! Sherlock…." John sighed heavily again.

He bent over and scooped the detective into his arms, a position Sherlock was not fond of, made clear as he grabbed a mouthful of John's wrist.

"Stop that! I have to take you to the vet's now. Idiot!"

Sherlock began meowing and hissing in a stream of cat curses and struggled in John's arms.

He turned the cat around and held him under the forearms as he brought his flatmate up to eye level. Sherlock refused to look at John and continued to growl and mutter under his breath.

"Stop that right now or I will wash out your mouth! If I don't take you to the vet's you could be in serious trouble. No one, cat, detective or changeling is meant to eat plastic or cardboard."

The cat continued to grumble and growl as John jogged down the steps. Just as he reached the door, it opened from the outside. Coming in to meet them was a tall imposing figure, wearing a three-piece suit and a look of curdled cream.

"Dr. Watson," said the cool aloof voice. "Ah, has my brother been misbehaving again." This was said with a nod to the writhing creature in John's arms.

"Yes…Ow! Stop it! He… Sherlock!…Oh for…ate…Dammit!...Son of a building block!...part of the _Cluedo_ board and possibly some game pieces! Ouch!" John was unable to hold his friend any longer as Sherlock clawed his way out of John's arms. He sat at the irate doctor's feet and hissed at his older brother, interspersed by the occasional 'ack'.

"Language, Sherlock," Mycroft admonished calmly. "I should have warned you. He does not like losing. You should have seen the disastrous night our cousins from Ottawa introduced him to the game _Sorry. _No one was more sorry than Sherlock. I gather you are attempting to take him to the veterinarian's? Not a good idea Doctor. Our metabolism is much too unusual for ordinary veterinarian care. I will take him to the family doctor and have him back before you know it."

Mycroft's usual wintery smile reserved for John was replaced with one that leaned more toward a cold spring. It was exchanged with a hard fall frost as he looked at his brother. He pointedly ordered, "Car!"

oOo

Several Hours Later

There was the sound of a door being slammed shut downstairs and a flurry of hurried footsteps raced up every other step. John looked up from the book he had been attempting to read whilst awaiting Sherlock's return. The younger man burst in through the flat door and strode over to John's chair. John, who had watched the entry into the flat with some relief, lifted an eyebrow at the angry look on his friend's face.

"Really John! I don't see why you had to hand me over to my brother. You know I will never hear the end of this!"

John just looked at his flatmate. Sherlock glared back, his glower heating up the flat.

John cleared his throat.

Sherlock quirked an annoyed eyebrow.

John quirked back.

Sherlock's mouth twitched, as he attempted to maintain full nuclear damage.

John's face broke into a wide, sunny grin. Sherlock was never able to hold out against that particular weapon. He rolled his eyes at the shorter man.

"Well that has to be a first. We'll have to change the rules."

"Whatever do you mean, John?"

"That the murder victim in Cluedo can be eaten in the bedroom by a cat."

Sherlock sat across from John and spoke,

"Ah, but you don't know the best part."

"What's that?"

"On the way to our doctor's I managed to be sick on Mycroft's shoes. Found Colonel Mustard with the rope in the car."

John looked incredulous for a moment and then broke into a fit of giggles. Sherlock joined in with a rare deep chuckle.

After a time the giggles and chuckles subsided.

John looked at his friend with a mixture of affection and mild exasperation.

"Tea?" asked the doctor.

"Please," answered the detective.

All was right in 221B once again.


End file.
